


In All Disorder a Secret Order

by OzQueen



Category: Good Life | Good Neighbors (UK)
Genre: Arguing, F/M, Marriage, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-21
Updated: 2012-06-21
Packaged: 2017-11-08 06:16:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/440063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OzQueen/pseuds/OzQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Breaking from routine is the first step toward absolute chaos, Jerry. And I shall leave you before we get to that point.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	In All Disorder a Secret Order

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Из хаоса — порядок](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10315790) by [LRRH](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LRRH/pseuds/LRRH)



> Written for [the summer mini bang](http://luxken27.livejournal.com/243702.html) hosted by luxken27. And yay, it's for a fandom I've been wanting to write more for! I have absolutely no idea if there even is a fandom for The Good Life - if there is, it's very, very small. And, as a result, this is unbeta'd. I'm not sure where it came from, but I hope it reads okay, and true to character.

  
  
  
  
Jerry's not sure whether Tom and Barbara have happened to visit in the middle of this argument due to chance or curiosity. Margo is upstairs, pulling her things out of drawers and throwing them into a suitcase, and Jerry is mixing himself a long overdue gin and tonic.   
  
“Aren't you and Margo supposed to be on your way to the theatre?” Barbara asks, raising her eyes to the ceiling at the sound of another drawer thudding shut.  
  
“Supposed to be,” Jerry confirms.  
  
Tom grins, though it looks a little strained – not because he's stumbled into a socially awkward situation, but because Jerry seems weary rather than amused by Margo's latest overreaction. “Is Margo upstairs getting dressed, then?” he asks.  
  
“I should think not,” Jerry says, swilling his drink in the glass in his hand. “I expect she'll be 'round your place in ten minutes or so, asking about the vacancy of your spare room.”  
  
“Rather full with vegetable store at the moment –” Tom says, before a sharp elbow from Barbara hits him in the ribs.  
  
“Oh, Jerry, surely you can't just let her walk out,” Barbara says, eyes shining in a mix of amusement and despair. “Not again.”  
  
“I hardly think she'll listen to me if I try to stop her,” Jerry says. “You've met Margo, haven't you?”  
  
“Oh,” Barbara says, waving away Jerry's nonsense. “If only you'd apologise to her –”  
  
“I'll do no bloody such thing,” Jerry says quickly, lifting his head. “It's hardly my fault the traffic on London Bridge is so bad it makes me later each evening. Either I leave the office early and risk Sir's disapproval, or I run headlong into delays on the motorway and risk Margo's.” He takes a large swig of his gin and tonic. “At least Sir pays me for my company.”  
  
Tom shoots Barbara a saucy look, wiggling his eyebrows, but she pokes him in the ribs again before he can say anything.  
  
“Jerry, isn't apologising merely the simplest way to keep the peace?” Barbara asks. “Honestly, the way you two carry on sometimes –”  
  
“Here now,” Jerry says, giving Barbara a stern look. “I won't have you talking about my relationship with my wife like this, in my drawing room...”  
  
“Sorry,” Tom says, bobbing on his feet. “Shall we discuss it in the garden?”  
  
“Oh, Tom!” Barbara says crossly. “Jerry, really, I am sorry – but can't you see that this constant arguing between you and Margo is beginning to wear a little thin?”  
  
“Of course I can,” Jerry says stiffly. “But it's not my fault.”  
  
Tom tugs Barbara's wrist gently, and she knows it's time to retreat. (If only so they're home when Margo comes calling.)  
  
Jerry bids them goodnight, softening his voice a little in the way of an apology, and shuts the door behind them, watching them through the glass as they both clamber over the fence and head for their kitchen door.  
  
A loud thud, muffled on the carpet, sounds from the top of the stairs. Margo's voice rings downstairs. “I don't expect you to care, Jerry, but I've possibly just ruined a very expensive outfit by cramming it into a suitcase with haste.”  
  
“What are you taking your good clothes for?” he calls back, irritably. “You're only going next door!”  
  
The suitcase thuds rhythmically downstairs as Margo marches from the bedroom to the drawing room, her head high and her mouth pressed into a thin line of disapproval. “I shall give you one last chance to apologise,” she says, as though granting him a favour.  
  
“I shan't apologise for something that isn't my fault,” Jerry says, turning to the sideboard to mix himself another drink. “I left work on time, and beyond that I’m helpless as to what time I arrive here.”  
  
“You are not helpless,” Margo says archly, shaking her head from side to side. “What you are, Jeremy, is careless. You are careless.” She pulls her gloves on slowly, making a show of dressing to leave him.   
  
“How so?” Jerry lifts the glass and breathes in the fumes of his cocktail. His mouth is already watering.  
  
Margo, apparently, doesn't know the answer, because she says, “Well, if _you_ don't know, Jerry, then _I_ can't help you.”  
  
“Margo,” Jerry groans. “This is silly. Why don't we just have a drink and order a takeaway, and forget about the whole thing.”  
  
“Because I don't care to invite thoughts of your behaviour tonight being acceptable,” Margo says frostily, looking at him from beneath a furrowed brow. “I will not have you arriving late from the office, carelessly throwing aside our previous plans and engagements in favour of a smelly curry from some corner sweatshop.”  
  
Jerry sinks onto the sofa with a sigh, finally pulling his tie loose. “You're being exceptionally stubborn tonight, Margo, I must say.”  
  
“I am going to Tom and Barbara's,” Margo says, tugging lightly on her gloves again, as though to make sure they're well and truly on. “Perhaps your attitude will improve after you have had to entertain yourself for a weekend.”  
  
Jerry's had just enough alcohol to push forth his thoughts before he's truly had a chance to think about them. He gives her a purposefully lewd smile. “Were _you_ going to entertain me all weekend, Margo?”  
  
“Certainly not!” she snaps. She blinks, and then looks at him, appalled. “Jerry.”  
  
He grins and drains his glass. “Well, Tom and Barbara popped by to say you're welcome to their spare bedroom, if you're willing to share with their stored vegetables.”  
  
Margo looks a little disheartened at this. “Oh. They were here?”  
  
“A few minutes ago.” Jerry gets up, again, to fill his glass. Again. “I do wish you'd stay, Margo. It's Friday evening and it's well past cocktail hour. You know they're going to have nothing but Peapod Burgundy over there, don't you?”  
  
Margo checks her watch and glances at her suitcase. Jerry can see her resolve weakening, which pleases him – because he really does want her to stay, and he really does want the argument to end, and he hasn't actually had to utter the (completely unnecessary) words “I'm sorry” to her at all.   
  
“A simple apology is all I ask,” Margo says, in her _I’m being completely reasonable_ tone of voice.  
  
“You'd like me to apologise for all the traffic on the motorway?” Jerry asks, his voice almost as cold as the ice slowly melting against the gin in his glass.  
  
(And his hopes start to evaporate as he thinks that this is what he truly dislikes about Margo sometimes; that she is so utterly blind to reason.)  
  
Her voice is shrill. “I would like,” she says, “an apology for my ruined evening. I would like an apology for how I have been treated since you stormed through the front door –”  
  
“I didn't storm,” Jerry says crossly, looking back at her over his shoulder. “I'm too bloody exhausted to storm anywhere.”  
  
“Well,” Margo says, pressing her lips tight. “I can see it's like talking to a wall. And so I shall bid you good evening, Jeremy.” She hefts her suitcase in her hands – what's in it, Jerry has no idea – and totters toward the door.  
  
“Oh, all right,” Jerry says irritably. “If it'll stop you. If it'll spare us from Tom and Barbara's well-meaning meddling tomorrow morning, trying to patch things up for us.” He puts his glass down, heaves a sigh, and looks at her. “I'm sorry, Margo.”  
  
She's clearly relieved he's caved – and clearly relieved she doesn't have to trudge next door with her suitcase – because she accepts his apology immediately.  
  
“Thank you, Jerry,” she says graciously. “Was that so difficult?”  
  
“No,” he admits, but as he turns to finish mixing his drink, he mutters, “it wasn't exactly sincere, either.”  
  
“Gin and tonic, I think,” Margo says happily, tugging her gloves off. “Now, Jerry, if I should happen to miss another evening at the theatre because of your poor planning when it comes to commuting from the office, I shan't think twice about leaving you.”  
  
Jerry hands her a drink. “How long for?” he asks, sinking down beside her. The gin has made him light-headed and fuzzy-tongued, but his brain feels extraordinarily sharp.   
  
Margo shakes her head disapprovingly. “It is not something to be taken lightly, Jerry.”  
  
He supposes not, but he's rather drunk now, and part of it is just from knowing they have a whole Friday evening ahead of them, with no other engagements requiring their company. (Thanks to the traffic on London Bridge.)  
  
He leans over to kiss Margo's cheek, taking extra care not to spill his drink in her lap. “It would break my heart if you left, you know,” he says solemnly.   
  
Margo watches him carefully, leaning away from him just slightly. “It's gratifying to hear that,” she says after a moment.  
  
He kisses her cheek again. She smells like perfume and cigarettes and something soft and warm – he hasn't the faintest clue what it is. “Shall we go upstairs and unpack your suitcase again?”  
  
“There isn't much in it,” she admits. She looks faintly surprised by his attention. “Jerry...”  
  
He puts his glass down on the coffee table –   
  
“Coaster, Jerry.”  
  
– and puts his hands on Margo's thighs instead. “Would you really leave me because I was late home on a Friday evening?” he asks, irritation overriding anything else (such as hurt) in his voice.  
  
She looks back at him. “I thought we'd put this silly argument to rest.”  
  
“It won't come up next Friday evening, should I happen to be late again?”  
  
“I should hope not,” Margo says crisply. “One hopes you'll be on time from now on.”  
  
“I am hardly responsible for the traffic,” Jerry says harshly, but he's not really in the mood for this anymore; doesn't really care if she blames him for everything. (She does so on a daily basis, it just seemed too hard to deal with upon arriving home tonight. He has recovered himself now, and is looking forward to the next part of their arguing – the making up.)  
  
“Your hands are wet,” Margo says disapprovingly. “You've marked my dress.”  
  
“Ice,” Jerry says carelessly. He strokes her thighs through the thin material of her dress. “Let's go upstairs, Margo.”  
  
“It's still broad daylight,” she says, brows drawing together.  
  
He grins. (He does love her, ever so much, despite her ridiculousness.) “Just think, darling,” he says persuasively, “how much easier it would be to get your own way, if I were to be tempted with reward? It would certainly make me drive a little faster...”  
  
“Jeremy Leadbetter,” Margo says in surprise. “You're being positively obscene.”  
  
He runs a finger up the inside of her bare arm and watches her shiver. “I think you like it a little,” he says. “Let's go upstairs,” he said. “I may have been late home, but we have the whole evening to ourselves now.”  
  
“I'm beginning to think you planned this,” Margo says, eyes wide. She shakes her head. “Obscene, Jerry. What would the neighbours think?”  
  
“Aren't you forgetting who our neighbours are?” he says, delivering a perfect smirk. He laughs and kisses her neck. “We'll draw the curtains.”  
  
“That merely invites suspicion and projection,” Margo says. She leans away from him, but she doesn't push him away, and so he follows her easily.  
  
He kisses her mouth, and she tastes of smoke and lipstick. She goes soft and fluid beneath him, and her lashes flutter when he pulls back a little.  
  
“I shall leave you, you know,” she says faintly. “Breaking from routine is the first step toward absolute chaos, Jerry. And I shall leave you before we get to that point.”  
  
“You would be doing us both a favour,” he says solemnly. “But I do love you, Margo. And I would be very upset if you did, truly, leave me one day.”  
  
“It would only be for a night or so,” she says comfortingly, sliding his tie through her hands. “I couldn't bear to sleep on low-quality sheets for very long.”  
  
“Shall we go upstairs now and not sleep on some high-quality sheets?” Jerry asks. “I feel as though I could toss and turn all night.”  
  
Margo gives him a stern look. “If the curtains are drawn,” she says, “and the door is locked against neighbours who may mean well, but who often come by to meddle.”  
  
“Good idea,” Jerry agrees. “That sort of thing is rampant around here.”  
  
“And Jerry,” Margo says, raising an eyebrow ever-so-slightly, “if I do find out that this was all some sort of plan you concocted – the traffic, being late, missing the theatre for cocktails and an early night – I shall never speak to you again.”  
  
“I'm flattered you think so much of my ability to deceive,” he says, kissing her again. “It makes me feel quite important.”  
  
“You are important, Jerry,” Margo says, and finally Jerry feels as though she has apologised to him, too. “You may carry my suitcase back upstairs.”  
  
She pulls herself out from beneath him and heads for the bedroom, feet treading lightly on the stairs.  



End file.
